


No Rest for the Weary

by GypsyReaper



Series: The Old and the Sassy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crobby - Freeform, Crobby being cute, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, Some Humor, tired of dealing with stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyReaper/pseuds/GypsyReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, no vacation for us then, Robert?” Bobby must have been hearing things in his old age; he could have sworn Crowley sounded disappointed. </p>
<p>“Not if we want to keep this little marble of ours spinning the right way,” Bobby said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Rest for the Weary

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first Crobby fic! I read a dozen fics yesterday, and I realized I loved the two grumpy old guys together. Not much in the way of smut, more a comfortable domestic situation. Although, I might write more if I get more inspiration. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

Bobby was running around the den, muttering to himself as he glanced over the myriad of bookshelves, over the piles of books scattered about on the floor, and strewn about the desk. Despite the chaos, Bobby could usually find exactly whatever book, tome, grimoire, or journal needed to help out a hunter in need. Today, however, he was a little lost in his own chaos. _How in the hell do I ever find anything?_ He honestly wondered to himself. 

“That’s the question I’ve been wondering for years, Robert,” said the Scottish brogue behind him. The older hunter whipped around the see the black suited King of Hell standing among the stacks of books, managing to look bored, smug, and vaguely affectionate simultaneously. “Honestly, Bobby, this is bordering on the unhealthy side of being a hoarder. I’m sure Moose would love to digitize your library.” 

“Yeah, well, once I’m dead and gone he can do whatever he wants with this stuff. ‘Til then, move ya smarmy bastard,” Bobby said, moving past Crowley and continued his search for the book that still eluded him. Crowley cleared his throat loudly, and rolled his eyes as Bobby turned back to see Crowley holding out the book in question. “You could have just asked, ducky,” he said. 

Bobby rolled his eyes, and attempted to grab the book, but Crowley yanked it back. “You need to sweeten the pot a little, darling.” Crowley wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis. 

The hunter sighed in exasperation. “What you ya want, my soul? Again?” he added as an afterthought. 

“Hardly. Can’t have much fun with that. Yourself on the other hand….” Crowley winked. Before he could say another word Bobby stepped in close and kissed the demon, catching Crowley by surprise. Just as the kiss got heated, just as Crowley got really interested in taking that kiss (and everything it was going to led to) upstairs, Bobby snatched the book forgotten in the demon’s hand and walked away, a smug look on his face. 

Crowley hated being duped, but his scowl turned into a grin once he was sure Bobby was too absorbed into the book to see him. “You’re welcome,” the demon said with a pout. 

Bobby waved at him distractedly, flipping through the pages while walking towards the series of phones on the wall. 

Bobby Singer was a hunter with a one track mind, so Crowley was essentially forgotten until Bobby had saved whatever hunter needed his/her ass saved. He materialized a glass of expensive scotch and made himself comfortable on the old couch. Grabbing one of the books on the closest stack, he flipped through the pages lazily; he sipped his scotch and listened to the old hunter lecture the other party on how to kill whatever it was. A few moments of heated debate, Bobby hung up with a loud “Damn idjit,” before walking back to the den. 

“And what exactly do I owe the pleasure, Crowley?” he asked, sounding annoyed. 

The demon king did not look up immediately. After a moment, he smirked at the hunter. “Bad day at the office?” he asked almost innocently, dodging Bobby’s question.

Bobby let Crowley think the matter was his visit was set aside for the moment. He grabbed the glass out of the demon’s hand, and swallowed what was left in one go. Crowley looked like someone had just punted his favorite hellhound into the Grand Canyon. 

“What did I do for you to think that drinking my scotch--the last thing keeping my head together after dealing with those demonic idiots I have for followers--is appropriate?!” Crowley roared. 

“Like you’re the only one with problems? Please. Seems like every hunter this side of the Rocky’s is having a stupid moment. No one seems capable of wiping their own asses all of a sudden; my phone’s been ringing off the hook all day.” Now that Crowley really looked at him, Bobby did look more beat-down that usual. This was impressive considering he was almost constantly in a state of inebriation and hunted monsters for a living; Bobby was already worn around the edges. 

Bobby made a point to flop down on the couch beside the demonic king, suddenly feeling a 1000 years old. The two men did not look at each, but simply seemed to let their weariness catch up to them for a few moments. 

“Besides, you’ve got a never-ending expanse of alcohol at your disposal, so don’t start being stingy with it now,” the hunter grumbled. He did not mention the fact that Crowley’s expensive scotch and whiskey tasted marginally better than the homemade rotgut he usually drank.

The two of them enjoyed the momentary silence and peace between them. Crowley’s phone was not buzzing incessantly, and he was not surrounded by the sounds of wailing screams for tortured souls. Bobby’s phone had finally, _finally_ , stopped ringing. 

“We should elope,” Crowley suddenly announced. 

Bobby slowly turned his head towards the demon. “I don’t even know how to react to that,” he said honestly. 

“Oh come on! A little vacation, some R&R, somewhere that doesn’t get phone reception preferably,” Crowley said, smirking at Bobby the whole time. 

“Then call it a vacation, why in the world would you say ‘elope’?” Bobby asked grouchily. 

Crowley sighed. “Looks like I’ve been giving you too much credit when it comes to that mind of yours, love. See, when two people like each other, and want to be together without worry from friends or co-workers, they get married in secret. That’s called eloping.” 

Bobby smacked Crowley’s arm. “Idjit. That’s not what I meant.” 

“Careful, if you wrinkle this, you’re paying for the dry-cleaning.”  
“Oh, bite me,” Bobby said. 

“If you wish.” 

The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes longer. 

“Where would we go?” Bobby asked curiously. Crowley chuckled. “Anywhere you want? Any _time_ you want? King of Hell has its perks. We could sip whiskey on a beach, go swimming in the Mediterranean during the reign of Cesar if you wished.” 

Bobby barked out a laugh at that, causing Crowley to scowl. “What’s so funny?”

“You realize if we went to a beach you’d have to wear something else than your expensive suits? Wouldn’t want my ride getting heatstroke and dyin’ on me.” 

“Oh, I see. You just want me out of my clothes, eh Robert?” the demon said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Well, I’d pay good money to see you in a bathing suit, if that sweetens the pot. You’d have to lose the hat, though.” 

Bobby ducked his head so Crowley couldn’t see the slight blush coloring the hunter’s cheeks. He knew he was a grizzled old drunk, and not very easy on the eyes, but it was sorta nice to hear the compliment. Even if it came from the King of Hell. 

“Not a lie, Bobby. I lie for a living, but I wouldn’t lie to you about that,” Crowley said, cutting off Bobby’s typical he’s-a-demon-he-lies-it’s-what-he-does train of thought. 

Another few minutes of silence and Crowley watched Bobby intently. The hunter actually seemed to be seriously mulling the idea of a vacation over, with Crowley no less. Eventually, the hunter sighed, and pushed up his hat to rub his forehead.

“You do realize if we did go on a vacation the entire world would stop, right?” Bobby asked, only half joking. 

“Hm. Yes, unfortunately that’s a good point. Your boys would die, or get caught up in some divine business, or start another Apocalypse, or die…”

“And your demons would run amok, causing chaos everywhere. Deals would be called in early, the works.”

Crowley shuddered at the suggestion of unfulfilled deals; they were a _nightmare_ for PR. 

“So, no vacation for us then, Robert?” Bobby must have been hearing things in his old age; he could have sworn Crowley sounded disappointed. 

“Not if we want to keep this little marble of ours spinning the right way,” Bobby said. 

Michael and Lucifer had been so wrapped up in their brotherly battle, so wrapped up in convincing Dean and Sam to pick sides, that they never actually realized who was actually derailing the Apocalypse. The Winchesters were the most important pieces on the board, the Kings, but the Archangels were so focused on them that they never noticed the queens systematically destroying the board.

Bobby and Crowley had derailed the whole show, and they had done it with a lot less moping and arguing (but with arguably more alcohol and age-induced sass). The boy’s adopted father and the King of Hell knew this fact, but they did not announce it very often. They worked better from behind the scenes anyway, making sure their “marble kept spinning.” 

Crowley’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he sighed in annoyance. “My appointment’s early,” he said, sounding a little sad, like he wanted the peace with Bobby to last a little longer. 

Bobby patted his leg in sympathy as he stood up. He even helped Crowley up, their lips meeting briefly before Bobby headed back towards the kitchen. When he looked back the demon had vanished, but the old hunter just grinned to himself. Crowley would be back. He returned whenever he could, either to rant about work or to just check in to see Bobby was okay, but he always came back at some point. 

If they were lucky (which Bobby was not sure he could safely call himself that) maybe they’d get a night to themselves without some fool blowing up someone’s phone. A nice quiet night would be appreciated. Just good booze and good company and a good night’s rest. Funny how he could get all that with the King of Hell.


End file.
